


Navy Blue

by Peaterparker



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh Are Best Friends, F/F, First Kiss, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, M/M, Maggie Tozier loves her kids, Mention of Suicide Attempt, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Unresolved Romantic Tension, but its an eventual thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24205630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peaterparker/pseuds/Peaterparker
Summary: He can’t help but let his gaze slide to Eddie, where he’s turned and talking to Richie’s Aunt Madeline, and think that he wouldn’t be nervous if he was waiting under the arbor for Eddie. He’s sure in the knowledge that he wants to spend his life with the man who purposefully made Bev match their suits.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Kudos: 61





	Navy Blue

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a doc full of warmups before I dove back into Disintegration that formed a bit of plot and turned into... this.
> 
> Anyways, the Tozier kids are gay and I don't make the rules.

The invitation to Amanda’s wedding is still sitting on his kitchen counter when he comes stumbling through his front door. He forgot about it, completely and utterly devoted in keeping himself and his friends alive while fighting a killer clown, but watching Eddie reading it carefully has his mouth running dry and a small pit of dread uncurling in his stomach. He didn’t miss it, couldn’t even if he tried, it’s still a month off but the anxiety he was having over it before he left for Derry returns with a sharp vengeance. 

“Holy shit, little Mandy is getting married?” Eddie says it quietly, like he’s talking to himself, but Richie can hear the question behind it. Eddie’s eyes are wide, hands still shaking despite the clean bill of health from the magical healing powers that came from defeating It. 

“Yeah, she met her partner in college. At least one Tozier’s got game, huh?” The joke falls flat with the small tremor in his voice. Richie doesn’t wait to see how Eddie reacts to the shitty joke instead he just walks through the small hall and into the living room. 

Richie starts to think that that just might’ve been the beginning of the fucking end. In the days after they start to settle into a routine but Eddie doesn’t drop the wedding, he wants to know everything there is to know about Mandy and her partner Taylor. 

“So how’d your mom take it when you both came out?” Eddie asks one night, glass of wine in hand and small smile playing on his lips. It feels more intimate than any night they’ve shared before, the television quietly playing a movie in the background while they both were soft with sleep but keeping pretenses to stay in each other’s presence. 

Richie notices that they’re having more and more moments like that. They get too close, look into each other’s eyes and spend minutes gravitating even closer before one of them snaps out of it and returns to normalcy. 

“Well, you know my mom.” Richie huffs a small laugh. “She emailed Mandy a meme of a cat in a pizza hat that said ‘just found out what lesbians eat, I swear I’m a pizza’. Then she asked me if there was a specific subculture of gay men that found me attractive, so you know, tens all around the board for best supportive mother.” 

“Clearly she should’ve been the comedian.” Eddie jokes, his smile wide and eyes bright. Richie feels chock full of love, has to swallow it down with the last dregs of wine in his glass.

They talk about Richie’s dad passing and Eddie’s mom’s death, the hardest of times they faced in college, times they realized the raw emptiness they felt was the void of where the other should have been. They spend three nights in a row staying up until two in the morning talking about things they’ve missed out on in the past near thirty years. Nights of tears full of pain, full of laughter so loud, full of a warmth Richie hasn’t felt since he was just a kid in Derry. 

But then Eddie and Amanda start texting and Richie is going to _lose his fucking mind_ if his sister calls him one more time to tell him that he’s a fucking moron. He knows damn well that he’s treading very serious waters by loving Eddie the way he does, he _knows_ it crosses every fucking boundary of being someone’s friend, he knows that Eddie is dealing with his shit and that Richie needs to deal with his own shit before he can even think about Eddie like that. 

It’s when Mandy starts facetiming them that Richie wonders just what the fuck is going on.

“Hi, Richard, it’s the sister you’re too busy to text back.” Mandy starts before Richie can even say hello, or what the fuck do you want to see my face for, or couldn’t you just fucking call. “Where’s Eddie? He wasn’t answering his phone.” She frowns down at the screen, naturally watching Richie like a hawk. “Have you been sleeping?” 

“God, I’m so glad I got dad’s personality and you turned into mom instead of the other way around.” He grumbles and she shouts a laugh. “Hi! Mandy! Thanks for checking in on me, I’ve been locked away in my office most of the day trying to save my dying career. How am I, you ask? Well, I’ve been worrying about this mole on my back-”

“Shut the fuck up, asshole, there’s no mole on your fucking back.” Eddie stumbles into the kitchen, almost like he’d run the distance of the house just to tell Richie off. 

“There he is.” Mandy smiles and Richie’s phone jerks from his hand, her voice echoing down the hall as Eddie walks away just as fast as he came. 

Hand still in the air even with his face, Richie blinks twice before lightly smacking his own cheek to prove this isn’t some fucked up domesticated dream.

They’re out for lunch and Eddie won’t put his phone down, typing faster than the speed of sound and giving a small laugh every few replies. Richie lets it go on until after they order, curiosity and a slight jealousy compelling him into needling Eddie for attention.

“You know, if I wasn’t absolutely sure I’m the better Tozier, I’d almost say you’re emotionally cheating on me with my sister.” He moves the condiments around in a different order under Eddie’s watchful eye, fully knowing Eddie will move it back around to how it was set before Richie puts his hands back in his lap. 

Eddie blinks at him, a smile creeping slowly across his face, before he picks his phone up and points it at Richie. If it weren’t for the shutter sound Richie almost wouldn’t have believed that Eddie had just taken a picture of him. He types something fast, locks his phone and then shoves it into his pocket before meeting Riche’s gaze straight on. 

“You’re the worst Tozier and I was actually talking to Bev, not Mandy. That being said, she’s more emotionally satisfying than you could ever be.” 

The balled up straw wrapper hits Eddie right on the nose and he laughs so hard he snorts so Richie still thinks he’s winning. 

It’s almost midnight on a Tuesday, Richie is still in his office despite having missed dinner and the coffee he’s trying to choke down is giving him more of a headache than a boost. He’s writing his own material, trying his hand at making something more authentic that he could be proud of, wracking his brain for ways to make fear, repression and thirty years of dehumanizing trauma funny but it’s just not working for him. He knows he should call it a night, warm up whatever food Eddie left on a plate for him and get some sleep but he feels stuck in a way he hasn’t in a long time. 

He huffs an annoyed sigh, turns the lights out in the office and steps through the french doors to the living room where he finds Eddie sitting in the dim lighting cast out from the kitchen staring at the wall. It’s almost freaky the way he seems to be zoned out, like he’s not really there in any way except physically and Richie’s cautious to drag him back to this reality.

“Hey, Spaghetti, I thought you’d be in bed by now.” He speaks lowly, so as not to startle Eddie but he still jerks when Richie steps around to face him. 

“My divorce got finalized.” Eddie says, fear and guilt and joy overlapping his words. 

Richie’s been caught speechless only a handful of times, the only recent ones being the first time he saw Eddie again at the Jade and coming out of the deadlights to see Eddie above him. Words fail him once again so instead of meaningless platitudes he just opens his arms enough for Eddie to get the hint. It’s a quarter after midnight, deadly quiet in the house, and he’s holding Eddie just as tightly as he’s being held. 

Richie knows what he wants to write about. 

After sending Eddie up to bed, he settles back in his office and writes for three hours. In a delirious state he emails it over to Steve and face plants into his mattress right as the sun is coming up. 

Steve calls, three four five six times in a row. Phone buzzing right next to his ear. Without even opening his eyes he answers with a rough grunt, surely not the worst way he’s answered a call from his manager. 

“You’re really sure about this, Rich? I mean this shit is good, probably the best thing you’ve sent me in our fifteen years together. You really ready to come out like this?” There’s no judgment, no harsh rejection on it’s way, no reason to feel as nauseous as he does. 

But it’s not fear, he realizes. 

Just a free falling feeling, like jumping into the quarry with a hand slightly smaller than his own tangling their fingers together. Warmth like the sun on his shoulders as their shouted laughter echoes with their fall. 

“Yes.” He says, waits for Steve’s confirmation to continue writing and editing, throws his phone across the bed and goes back the fuck to sleep. 

Mandy calls shortly after Richie showers and drinks half a pot of coffee, waving off Eddie’s concern that he’s intaking too much caffeine, and breaks the news about his plus one. 

“So, Eddie’s going to take your plus one spot since the seating charts have already been made.” 

“I wasn’t going to bring a plus one? Did you even factor that in?” He’s cutting strawberries that Eddie’s handing to him after washing, shoulder holding the phone while he frowns at the small paring knife in his hand. 

“Yes. I told Tay, she already knows what a sad sack you are. But you’re also the wild card of all wild cards and she factored in that you could possibly bring someone. And look! You are!”

“Amanda-” he stops cutting strawberries and steps out of the kitchen, ignoring Eddie’s quirked eyebrow. 

“Oh, I know that tone!” She laughs, it’s one of Richie’s favorite laughs but he’s trying to stay focussed on being annoyed. “Listen, Dick, I really think you should talk to him but I’m not going to say anything else because I know you’re going to be a miserable asshole about it. Just make sure you get your suits fitted and I’ll see you in a few weeks for rehearsals. Mom wants you to incorporate something yellow for dad.” 

“Uh, yeah, okay, I guess. You fucking weirdo.” He picks at the cuticle overlapping his nail and waits for her to say goodbye. 

Eddie’s not in the kitchen when he walks back in. 

Beverly comes to LA with her assistant, a woman named Kay who is just as fiercely loyal as any Loser and can bicker with Richie just as well as them too. It’s refreshing to see that Bev takes stock in who she trusts now more than ever, someone who got to live around Bev during those twenty seven years that they all forgot about each other and can honestly say they’ve supported her through trying times. 

Eddie’s pissy face makes the fittings go even better. Bev was adamant that she dresses her boys, asking for Mandy’s address to send a wedding gift along to and personalizing Richie’s standard black suit with a yellow pocket square. 

Eddie’s fixing the knot on a skinny yellow tie while Bev slides pins into the navy material of the suit pants. 

He feels a little faint, watching Eddie frown down at Bev in the mirror. Snaps a quick picture of the scene before him and sends it with the middle finger emoji to Mandy who only sends laughing emojis back.

Richie never wants to go to another wedding ever again. 

Eddie starts seeing a therapist psychiatrist duo. Someone more equipped to deal with the screaming in the middle of the night. Richie can handle it, has the shared trauma but he feels so fucking incompetent when Eddie curls into himself instead of speaking up. He won’t tell Richie what he’s dreaming about and Richie wonders if he wasn’t the only one caught in the deadlights. It fucked them all up, more than it did as children. Using their fears to prey upon them and then living through it without addressing the trauma…. Maybe Richie should’ve known it would come to this.

But Eddie’s prescription of Diazepam sits on the kitchen counter, right next to the coffee machine so that if Eddie doesn’t remember then Richie will. He feels oddly weird about being included in this kind of ritual. Eddie was a little sketchy about his prescriptions and Richie being around when he talked on the phone with his pharmacist or doctor, giving him a weird look before closing a door or walking out of a room. 

So Richie didn’t say anything. He’s not a fucking doctor, he’s almost entirely positive that 70 percent of Eddie’s prescriptions are things that Myra told him he needed or at least pressured a skeevy doctor into signing them for Eddie. There was more than one reason Richie referred to her as the MomWife, even if he only referred to her as such in his head because he knows just how much Eddie hates to hear it. 

“I know you’re probably sick of sorting me out.” Eddie says one morning, coffee in hand and shaking out his pills onto the counter. The sunlight leaking in through the kitchen windows puts a halo around his face, Richie is so enraptured to see it that he forgets to respond for long seconds but Eddie has a small smile playing on his lips when his eyes flick over to Richie’s face.

“Couldn’t ever be sick of you, Eds.” Richie says quietly, ignores the blush rising on his own face and looks out onto the patio off the kitchen where the neighbor’s yellow tabby cat is sunbathing. 

He listens to Eddie count the rest of the pills in the bottle, rattles it twice and then sets it back down. 

“I’m scared I’m going to get too dependent on them.” Richie watches him swallow them down. “Myra never set a clear boundary, I never knew when I was getting in too deep.” 

“I, uh. I don’t know much about addiction, Eds, but I can help you make the boundary wherever you need it.” He ignores Eddie’s flinch at the word, knows that slapping an umbrella term that harsh on something like this isn’t beneficial per se and he’s not entirely sure where the fuck his footing is here but Eddie’s nodding along before smiling over at him. It feels like a fucking miracle he didn’t fuck this up too. 

“I’ve been working on cutting out most of my prescriptions.” Eddie bursts out, words tripping over themselves and off his tongue as fast as they can. “I mean, considering most of the health issues they’re for I don’t suffer from and it’s really taxing on my liver and kidneys to take a bunch of shit I don’t actually need.” 

“And you’ve been talking about it all with Therese?” Richie smiles when Eddie nods emphatically. “That’s awesome, man, I’m really proud of you.” 

Eddie’s smile splits his face and Richie has to swallow hard. 

The soft “thanks, Rich,” Eddie gives him almost feels like an embrace. 

Richie misses the final fitting of their suits for the wedding because he’s workshopping some of the new stuff he’s written. His team of editors and moral supporters never fail him, regardless of the material and Richie is so thankful to keep his team that feels more like a family. Tyler and Rochelle think the bits about being a closeted kid in Derry are down right knee slappers, Rochelle refuses to admit she said those words exactly but Richie knows Taryn got it all on camera. The fight over email rights to footage and written clauses in his contract has Rochelle blushing and finally admitting that she might have said it. 

Richie’s never been happier to hear his material be torn to shreds. Not a single personal insult is thrown, only judgments on his delivery or phrasing. He loves his people.

The point is that Richie misses the fitting but Eddie doesn’t quite let him. Eddie sends him a picture just about every five minutes distracting him enough that Marion steals his phone. By the time they take a fifteen minute break Richie has fourteen messages and six pictures waiting for him. Bev gave Richie a paisley yellow and blue shirt to match his pocket swatch, it’s so put together that he feels immensely proud of her. He’s gonna upstage the bride it’s so nice and he makes sure to say exactly that in the group chat.

Switching back to the messages with Eddie, he gets to the start of the pictures of the fitting and feels himself smiling helplessly. It’s obvious that Bev or Kay was taking the photos, Eddie’s lips thin and face tense. There’s a picture of Eddie from behind, facing the tri fold mirrors, Bev is facing him with a wide smile on her face and her hands clasped under her chin while Eddie’s hands have been turned into blurry objects. Richie has absolutely no fucking doubt that Eddie was bitching about something, anything, and it warms his chest so suddenly he blinks back a few tears. 

The last picture is a selfie, Eddie in his suit, apparently in the room alone. He’s got Richie’s garment bag open, displaying his suit, and his middle finger is just barely in the shot. 

_Don’t leave me alone with Bev in Fashion Mode again, asshole._

He laughs a little hoarsely before seeing a few texts from Bev come in. 

_Hi honey, hope your workshop is going well. If you have any issues with your suit please see your preferred tailor, the inseams are fixable but should be treated with care. (I will know if you desecrate my work of art, Richard Wentworth Tozier, do not fuck it up) Love you!_

_Also, Eddie is… well, don’t fuck that up either :) talk soon!_

Marion narrows his eyes at Richie’s face when he walks back into the room and announces “we probably only have about half an hour of Dick’s attention left so let’s get into the dirty deets.” 

True to form, Richie knew it wouldn’t be all good forever. Even through the shared nightmares things have been great with them, they argue and bicker and play fight just like they used to do but better. Today is not a light hearted day, Richie doesn’t think that he could just joke around today. He feels the weight of the bad mood settling under his skin the second his eyes fly open at three-forty-seven on the dot. 

The hairy, vile, disgusting creature that hides behind his ears starts that song and dance shtick of turning every good intention he has into ulterior motives. He’s never been a nice guy, why should he try now that Eddie’s involved? Eddie knows he’s a fucking bastard. Has called him such plenty of times. So he hides out in his office until nearly noon, staring at a blank google doc, getting angrier with every failed word. The cool industrial looking clock on the wall keeps ticking and the goblin-troll monster in his head tells him his worst mistakes with it. 

When it starts bringing up the Disaster of 2010, the most embarrassing failed suicide attempt that Richie had ever tried, he scrambles from the room and meets eyes with Eddie in the kitchen. The tell tale signs that he’s going to throw up keep him from listening to whatever Eddie was opening his mouth to say, has him bolting down the hall and into the first bathroom he can find. He cleans himself up, rinses his mouth though he desperately wishes to brush his teeth, and finally levels a glare at himself in the mirror. Eddie’s standing in the hall, eyes wide and worried. 

It pisses him off so much that he can’t simply just tell Eddie he’s having a bad day. The words lodge themselves in his throat and he’s pulling in air rapidly trying to either shove them down or choke them out. 

“I was going to ask you if you wanted lunch. Are you okay?” He’s so fucking worried about Richie, it’s written all over his face and it burns, it burns, it burns. 

“‘M fine. Not hungry.” He moves to brush past Eddie but he grips a hand around Richie’s bicep and searches his face for something. “Eddie, jesus, just-”

“Rich-” Richie jerks his arm free and moves farther down the hall. 

“Just leave me the fuck alone, Eddie.” He bites it out low, can’t bring himself to yell, thank god for small mercies. He keeps the rest of the vile, nasty, disgusting things behind his teeth. 

Richie doesn’t stay to watch the hurt flash across Eddie’s face, doesn’t immediately tell him just how fucking sorry he is, can’t fucking face himself in the reflection of the art hanging on the wall. He spends five hours staring at the ceiling in his room, listening to the soft noises of Eddie in the house. He makes a few phone calls, one Richie is sure is Bev and another his lawyer. His phone buzzes a few times with texts but he doesn’t have the energy to roll over and read them or try to figure out an appropriate response when he can’t even face Eddie. 

His head is full of misery, he’s starting to get fed up with it. He takes a shower and that helps minutely, finally cracks his door and steels himself to apologize. Eddie’s sitting on the patio off the kitchen, lounging in one of the oversized chairs that Richie actually bought specifically. The yellow tabby cat from around the neighborhood is laying on the warm brick a few feet out from where Eddie’s toes are swinging above. He’s reading a book with a cup of tea and it’s so… warm. It’s the warmest thing he’s seen, he feels like he’s going to ruin the ambiance. 

He forces himself to sit in the other chair, to look out at the yard and hear the sounds of the cicadas screaming. The smell of a freshly cut lawn and someone’s well water sprinklers floats through with the small breeze. 

“Sorry for being a dick to you.” He says quietly and watches Eddie set his book down from the corner of his eyes. “I really didn’t want you to see me like this, especially if you’re making progress with Therese.” 

“Progress isn’t linear, Rich.” Eddie sighs out. “I think we need to talk more. Have better communication, so that days like this are easier for you.” 

“Easier for-” Richie’s so fucking confused, why would Eddie want to make Richie’s shit easier for Richie? 

“I want to be able to help you too, dumb ass.” Eddie snaps. “You help me so fucking much with my bullshit, I want to be able to help you too.” He runs a hand through his hair sharply before finally turning his gaze to Richie. “You can tell me you’re having a bad day and we can get through it together. One of the reasons I’m here is just to remind you that you don’t have to fucking do this alone, man!” 

That snaps him out of his tiny fog, thinking about there being reasons that Eddie is here other than just wanting to be here. 

“There’s reasons?” He keeps his voice blank, tries not to jump to conclusions.

“What?”

“There’s reasons you're here?” He knows his voice is getting a little bit louder, more confrontational but if Eddie’s been the one with ulterior motives this whole time...

“Well, I mean, yeah, Rich, there’s reasons you’re here too.” Eddie’s brows lower over his eyes, thin fingers ticking off reasons as he says them. “I’m here because I want to be around you, I’m here because I want to make sure you’re okay, I’m here because I left my fucking wife and nothing makes sense anymore. Aren’t those reason enough?” 

“I-I guess so.” He’s shocked, it’s apparent in his voice. 

The goblin-troll can’t find a counter excuse strong enough to dispel the reality of Eddie wanting to be around him. 

Richie starts emailing with a therapist. He explains that with a schedule as busy as his (partial lie, he’s just nervous about facing this head on) it’s easier to be able to correspond through email during the day and a weekly video call session. It works. Eddie doesn’t bring it up, but he knows it’s happening. There’s a small smile that splays across his face when Richie mentions checking his emails for a few hours. 

It gets easier. The nights aren’t as harrowing when he wakes up panting but the three am meetings in the kitchen for a warm tea and socked feet brushing his own under the table are still a regular occurence. 

He talks to Eddie. He sounds out his feelings and thoughts, listens to them echo around the dim lit kitchen. They talk about the deadlights, Eddie helps him make sense of that terrifying knot sitting right inside his ribs. It’s working, they’re functioning as actual adults and Richie’s so overwhelmingly proud of them he cries. 

Eddie cries too, he jokingly refuses to admit that the cries but Richie sees the warmness in his eyes. Eddie’s happy here, Richie’s so fucking happy here, they’re fucking happy. 

It’s a fucking trip. 

The worst of the nightmares come in the form of a werewolf howling to share an ever so lecherous secret. Richie is hung at the stake, his worst crime laid out in front of him in the form of little Eddie Kaspbrak. He’s out of bed and shoving his face into his toilet by the time Eddie is crashing through his bedroom door. Long, terrible minutes are spent choking on nothing and feeling the pressure in his head grow to unbearable levels. Eddie’s got a cool washcloth on the back of his neck within the next few seconds and it shocks him enough to drag in a deep breath. 

He can vaguely hear Eddie talking him through it, the palm on his hand sliding heavily down his back much like he used to do when Richie got too keyed up as a kid. His head fogs over with the memory and Eddie squeezing his fingers just as hard as Richie seems to be squeezing brings him crashing down. 

“Fuck, fuck, christ.” He pants out, narrows his eyes to focus on Eddie before giving up and forcefully closing his eyes. 

He’s so thankful that Eddie doesn’t try to talk to him or make him try to put words in any kind of order for a few more minutes. Eddie just encourages him to rinse his mouth and puts toothpaste on his toothbrush for him. He chokes on a laugh and does it again when Eddie glares at him. 

“It’s nasty.” Eddie says, hands over the toothbrush and moves past Richie to the bedroom. Richie finally notices that Eddie’s only in his shorts, no shirt, and can’t quite look at himself in the mirror after. 

Without even discussing it, Eddie’s curled up on the other side of the bed with the sheet already pulled over his chest. He’s too fucking tired to over think this, not after a dream like that. He climbs into bed and lays flat on his back. Seconds, minutes, hours later Eddie turns to lay on his back as well. It’s quiet except for their breathing and the air conditioning. 

“I- uh. Fuck.” Richie stumbles around his tongue, Eddie reaches across the space between them to hold his hand. “I’m… shit, I’m gay.” 

He can’t bring himself to look at Eddie, holds his breath and looks right on at the ceiling. Eddie squeezes his hand but doesn’t speak for what feels like eternity. He feels something heavy settle in his chest, dragging him down into that pit of despair he knew he’d fall in if Eddie couldn’t-

“Did my mom-?” He stops himself short, takes a sharp breath in. “That is not what I meant to fucking say.” 

Richie laughs so loud it drowns out Eddie’s long groan. 

Eddie talks often about going back to work and while Richie has no problem with this, he doesn’t want Eddie to think that he’s necessarily forced to work. They talk about their dream careers, jobs they’d prefer over the ones they’ve lived with. Eddie jokingly claims to want to be a farmer and suddenly Mike’s on speaker phone telling both of them they’d never make it longer than an hour, he reminds them how much they hated helping on the farm as kids and exaggerates Eddie’s fear of the goats. 

Eddie hangs up. Mike calls back. 

“ _Listen_ , asshole, you can’t just fucking leave your dirty socks… Rich?” 

Richie’s been staring blankly at his computer screen for twelve minutes and… sixteen seventeen eighteen seconds. He hung up the phone with Steve and couldn’t fucking move, he’s nearly embarrassed that this is how Eddie finds him. 

“I got… Eddie, I got the spot.” His voice is hoarse, like he’d been screaming. “Sirius signed me on.” 

It was the one chance he felt he was ever going to take towards doing what he actually wanted to. After experimenting in radio throughout college, Richie had really taken a liking to it. Had felt something in himself settle. He never got to be on the radio, but daydreaming about himself there had just felt right. 

The laundry basket that was on Eddie’s hip drops to the floor with a loud thump and then he’s pulling Richie from his chair to manhandle him into the tightest bear hug a man of his size could muster.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Eddie says into his chest and it’s Tears City all around shortly after. 

They celebrate with the good wine they were saving for the Losers coming in the next weekend. Eddie bitches minutely about having to buy a new bottle before Richie chucks his credit card at him and tells him to shut the fuck up. 

“I know your sister moved out here for school and then settled into her life but I’ll never forgive you for allowing her to think that fucking _Utah_ is where she should live forever.” Eddie’s picking lint off his pressed chino shorts, fresh from his shower after they checked into their hotel rooms. “I mean it’s not worse than LA, but-”

“Hey, what’s wrong with LA?” Richie’s heard the LA rant before, the glazed look that falls across Eddie’s eyes has him biting back a smile and looking up into the bright blue sky thanking whatever power that be for this. 

“Shut up, asshole.” Eddie backhands his arm, adjusts his sunglasses to the top of his head and steps forward to open the door to the restaurant where Mandy and Taylor are waiting. 

Taylor and Eddie talk about Springdale, with a population so small how the economy functions and the whole sociology textbook that Richie read in college comes bustling to the front of his head like a brick to a chalkboard. Shaking himself back to the moment he watches his sister taking in the small restaurant they're sitting in, watches her smile fondly at Taylor as she talks about teaching at the small school. Mandy looks happy. At thirty-four she seems so much more settled in her life than Richie had been in his. 

He tries to make his face as blank as possible when her sharp brown eyes focus on him, he knows that she can read him better than anyone ever could. Her brow furrows before she swallows and her face smooths back out. 

“I’m real glad you’re here, Rich.” Amanda says, accepting the coffee refill and moving the sugar closer between them. 

“Wouldn’t miss it, Mands.” He smiles at her eye roll, knows she’s letting the terrible nickname fly on account of her wedding tomorrow. 

“You seem better than the last time I saw you in person.” Mandy says, after they’ve paid their bill and stepped outside. 

Eddie and Taylor are talking out at the street, emphatic enough conversation to have Eddie waving his hands in the spaces between his words. Taylor’s smile is reflecting off his pretentious ass sunglasses, laughter echoing back to where Richie and Amanda have paused right outside the entrance. 

“I think he makes you better.” When he looks over to her she’s watching him with a smile. “He looks back at you too, you know?” She turns to gaze at Taylor hunched over laughing and Eddie shaking his head with whatever he’s saying now. “I’m proud of you, Richie.” 

He can’t stop the first tear from falling but he does manage to blink the rest back.

“What the fuck, Mandy. Save the sappy bullshit for your wedding, you know I’m allergic.” He hugs her nonetheless, murmurs a soft “love you” into her hair and relishes in the way she squeezes his back in reply. 

Richie doesn’t seriously think Eddie would be nervous to pick his mom up from the airport but the questionable look on his face as they get in the car has him pausing before immediately pushing at Eddie’s limits to get him to relax as slightly as possible. 

“Hey, dipshit, why the long face?” He’s adjusting the radio, his seat and the rearview mirror nearly at the same time and Eddie’s face goes stricken. 

“Fucking- hands on the wheel, asshole!” He jerks forward to smack at Richie’s hand and nudge it back to the wheel. 

“What’s goin’ on in that cute, cute, cute head of yours, Eds?” He puts a crooning emphasis on the cutes, smiles at the road at Eddie’s aggravated huff. 

“Just thinking about the last time I saw your mom.” 

“And?” Richie encourages. 

“ _And_ I fucked her, don’t you remember?” 

Richie howls, slaps the dash above the wheel and laughs victoriously at Eddie’s somewhat pained smile. 

The moment his mom sees Eddie she bypasses Richie’s outstretched arms and takes his face in her hands. She smiles, says something soft that has Eddie’s eyes going watery and pulls him into a hug. 

“Yes, _hello_ Richard. I just saw you a few months ago, let me greet my favorite adoptive son.” 

Nothing feels better than his mom leading them through the airport and Eddie being close enough to bump into. 

Their mom walks Amanda down the aisle, they had spent nights talking about whether Richie should or if they should throw their middle fingers up to gender roles and have the last living parent make the sacrifice instead. 

Their mom called them ‘fucking nuts’ when they decided to run the idea by her but she was adamant on wanting to give her daughter away. 

Richie and Eddie are standing on the first row on the left of the aisle, Taylor’s parents looking at them curiously and then avoiding gazes when Richie smiles and waves. It’s cool. Taylor knows how her family is, the fact that both parents showed up shows more than the cool ignorance just displayed. Richie can’t fault them for that. 

Taylor’s wearing a fabulous black pantsuit with a white ruffled blouse. She’s smiling and joking with the officiator, looking comfortable and in her element. It’s the most natural Richie’s ever seen someone acting at their own wedding. She doesn’t seem anxious or nervous, she’s entirely sure that his sister is who she wants to love for the rest of her life.

He can’t help but let his gaze slide to Eddie, where he’s turned and talking to Richie’s Aunt Madeline, and think that he wouldn’t be nervous if he was waiting under the arbor for Eddie. He’s sure in the knowledge that he wants to spend his life with the man who purposefully made Bev match their suits. It feels like a claim, like Eddie showing what’s his and he feels like a fucking moron for not realizing this earlier. He listened to Eddie bitch and bitch about how he wanted the same yellows and cool tones of their suits to match, he heard it all and listened to Bev’s equally enthused agreements. 

Mandy is announced as the bride and everyone stands. His mom is wearing a yellow dress with the same white lace as Mandy’s veil intricately sewn around the ends. They look fucking gorgeous, his mom’s silver hair carefully styled up and Mandy’s brown-almost-black curls fall behind her elegantly. Without thinking he slides his fingers through Eddies, feels the tears begin to creep down the sides of his cheeks. Eddie squeezes their fingers together, looks a little watery but it might just be the tears that have landed on Richie’s glasses. 

The ceremony goes perfectly, everyone’s teary eyed and moved by the amount of love displayed in front of them. He cheers the loudest when his sister dips Taylor to kiss her, laughs when his mom pats his arm to try and settle him down. Eddie’s smiling so widely that he can’t bring himself to think about what he’s doing before he does it. He pulls Eddie in and kisses his forehead, wipes his eyes and cheers for his sister when she passes them with a wink down the aisle.

The party goes on well into the night, Taylor’s family mingling with the entire Tozier clan that actually showed up. Even with the majority missing the ceremony, it seemed the Toziers doubled the more Richie drank. Eddie is warm and loose beside him, Richie’s arm over his shoulders as his cousins Buzz and Denny talk about the good ol’ days of Maine summers and chasing Mandy to keep her from chasing Richie. 

Richie was banned from making any speeches, both by Mandy and Eddie, but he still took four pages of the guest sign-in book to write down his mushy feelings. Crazy Little Thing Called Love comes on and Richie’s thankful that Eddie’s just drunk enough to dance with him in the midst of watching the battle of who can outdrink who between Richie’s cousins and Taylor’s. 

They miss stepping on each other’s toes barely every time they move closer, laughing through singing along. It’s the brightest he’s seen Eddie since they were thirteen and high off killing a sewer clown, he lets himself take it all in, gives himself this. They’re friends, they can be close without it being weird. It’s okay, Eddie isn’t giving him weird looks or pulling away, he knows about Richie and he still wants to be right where he is. 

Eddie fucking kisses him. He doesn’t even taste like alcohol. 

“You’re being a fucking moron, Rich.” Says the only voice in the world that can say that and mean it more than Eddie. 

“God, Stanley, you say the nicest things.” Richie sighs. “No, fuck you. I didn’t even get the chance to say anything before he fucking bolted.” 

“It’s _Eddie_ , of course he’s gonna run away until he’s freaked himself out so bad that he starts talking himself into it. You know how his mom-”

“ _Yes_ , Staniel, I am well aware of how badly his mother fucked that beautiful head up. I also know Eddie needs-”

“Okay, _Richard_ , I can’t disagree that Eddie is more authentic when put under pressure but you don’t need to be that person every time. Let him reach out, you know he’ll call one of us.” 

Stan is honestly his favorite Loser, hands down. He always seems to know what Richie needs to hear, that Eddie can talk to someone that’s not him and it’ll be okay. They’ll talk eventually and the promise of an eventually calms him. 

“Thanks, Stan.” He sighs and he can hear the smile in Stan’s voice as they say their goodbyes. 

Mandy quirks an eyebrow at him when he returns to the reception but he shakes his head once and she refocuses on Taylor’s mother in front of her, tilting her head in a laugh. His mother finds him, pulls him into an easy sway on the dancefloor, before looking up into his face and sighing. 

“You know your father always said you weren’t going to be like all the other boys in town. I never really knew what he was talking about until you went to school and met your friends.” 

“Ma-” he chokes out, looking around the room quickly before settling his wide eyes back on her face. She’s a little watery eyed but her smile is bright and genuine.

“No, no, Rich, listen. I’m not saying your daddy knew your entire life, or at least not willingly. Not until you were thirteen but that’s a story of a different time, too, Rich. That summer was a big one for you and I still don’t know exactly how it changed you but, baby, I know my children. I knew little Eddie Kaspbrak was the only one of your group of friends that you paid the most attention to. Not even sweet Beverly caught your eye quite like he did.” 

“Because it’s always been him.” He whispers and his mother smiles softly up at him.

“It has, hasn’t it?” She whispers back. “I saw the look on his face before he walked out earlier and just wanted to check in on my darling boy. Make sure that brain wasn’t working ya overtime.” 

He decided to give pause and take stock of how he feels. The initial rejection of Eddie walking (running) away had burned but the soft acknowledgement that Eddie won’t avoid him forever has him feeling like he’s stuck in an inbetween. 

“Brain is definitely working.” He says and revels in the giggle she gives him for it. “But I think I’m just… waiting. Feels like we’ve been working towards this for a little while now, I’m just waiting.” He spins his mother out on his arm and curls her back in and it feels right. 

He’s never considered himself patient, but for Eddie? Anything.

_Everything._


End file.
